


In the Firelight

by DisguisedasInnocent



Series: Ways to Say 'I love you' [52]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 08:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisguisedasInnocent/pseuds/DisguisedasInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Delinquents are used to making the most of the few and far between moments of respite and safety on Earth, and so, with the addition of Monty's still, they gather around the bonfires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Firelight

You watch her from the edge of the crowd. Your eyes are drawn to the way that her bright blonde hair, sun-bleached and golden, glistens in the firelight. It flutters about her shoulders in loose waves; braids, tangles, and flowing strands all intermixed to cascade down her back. She is beautiful, and she has stolen the air from your lungs. Your lips itch to press themselves against her cheek, her throat, her chest—you swallow a mouthful of the liquid fire in your mug to burn your wants away, but the warmth that erupts in your stomach only fans the flames of your desire. You wonder, your eyes fixated on the sway of Clarke’s hips, what it might feel like to reach out and curl your fingers around the base of her skull. You wonder—desperately and hopefully—whether she would let you kiss her.

“Raven!” Her voice knocks you out of your thoughts. It is soft, but loud, and it is accompanied by a large smile that stretches across her mouth. She stumbles toward you, and your fingers ache to catch her around the hips when she sways toward you. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

There’s affection shimmering in her ocean blue eyes, and happiness in the flush of her cheeks. It steals your breath away for a moment, and for a second, you cannot breathe. “My bum leg.” You answer breathlessly, because you cannot tell her that your mind is clouded by the pulse of your own heart in her presence. 

“No,” she shakes her head and smiles, “that’s not it.” She reaches out to you, her fingers tangle around your wrist, and she tugs you up and off your log bench into the circle of her arms. She’s smiling, and it is so happy that your chest aches with the force of it. “Come on Raven, have fun!”

“I am…” You protest weakly, but you allow her to pull you toward the campfire and the centre of the dancing delinquents. 

Octavia and Lincoln are twined together in the centre of the mass of dancing bodies, their limbs entangled, as they rocked to the beat of the drums. Gina leans back into the circle of Bellamy’s protective arms as they follow the thump that reverberated through their chests. And you, you stand with your hands on Clarke’s hips, and her hands curled around your neck, and your heart thunders in your chest but your mouth does not falter in its smile.

She guides you through the rhythm of the music—thick drumbeats that echo through your chest and the systematic strumming of a guitar’s strings—with the push and pull of her body. You orbit her. You always have, your heart following the tug of her gravity, aching to be beside her in every moment. She smiles, and for a moment, you swear you’ve been blinded by the sun at night.

“There,” she murmurs into the curve of your neck as she presses her body flush against your own, “are you having fun now?”

“Definitely.” You whisper back and tighten your grasp around her hips. 

You feel her lips brush against your throat and your pulse skyrockets in your veins, and you know she can feel it because her lips twist into a smile against your skin.


End file.
